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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28999569">Riders on the Storm</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/loglady1980/pseuds/loglady1980'>loglady1980</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Enthusiastic Consent, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Sex, Kissing, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Smut, idk how to tag this and im blushing reading the tags, please just read this thank you</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:06:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,742</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28999569</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/loglady1980/pseuds/loglady1980</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dream looks up, grinning like the devil, and George swears he’s seen nirvana. </p><p>Or, it's 1976 and Sapnap drags his stressed T.A. to a college party where they smoke weed, listen to The Doors, and meet a tall blonde stranger.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexis | Quackity &amp; Karl Jacobs, Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>726</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>MCYT</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Riders on the Storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>PLEASE read the tags and do not smoke weed or drink alcohol if you are underage. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A car whizzes past George’s apartment, making a startling crunching noise against the pavement as a freezing draft blows through his apartment. He groans, throwing his pencil down and ambling into the kitchen to tug the window shut, blown open by the torrential rain that had been plaguing Providence for the past weeks. Navigating giant puddles during his arduous trek to the computer science building had become a routine, and no amount of London downpours could have prepared him for the icy sleet of New England, the dreary cold permeating through every crack in the dilapidated brick campus apartments. George pulls a mug from the cupboard and gives his rickety coffee machine a resounding smack, causing it to chug with alarm and spit out a suspicious-looking amber liquid. </p><p>He’s in the midst of drinking a severely watered down cup of coffee when a frantic banging starts echoing throughout the bare-bones apartment. George charges from the kitchen to fling the door open, angry grimace melting into a look of absolute bewilderment as Sapnap stands across the threshold with a feral grin, wearing a massive leather coat, drenched from head to toe. </p><p>“What the fuck?” George breathes, eyes widening as Sapnap begins to howl with laughter.</p><p>“George,” he wheezes, “good- ah- good evening.”</p><p>“Hello?” George replies suspiciously, “what’s up, d’you need help with an assignment or something?”</p><p>“No,” Sapnap giggles, holding his stomach as rainwater drips steadily onto the carpeted floors, “do you ever stop acting like a T.A.?”</p><p>“Suppose not,” George mumbles, grinning sheepishly. “Listen, I’m working on a really important paper, can this wait?”</p><p>“Oh fuck, when’s your thesis shit wrapping up?”</p><p>“I have my defense next month,” George says proudly, “if everything goes smoothly, in less than thirty days, I’ll be <em> Doctor </em> Davidson, Ph.D.”</p><p>“Holy shit, that’s huge!” Sapnap yells, clapping him on the shoulder, ignoring George’s wince at the feeling of cold rain seeping into his crewneck. “Not gonna lie, Georgie, I’m gonna miss having you T.A. my seminar.”</p><p>“I’ll be around, Sap,” George huffs, growing slightly impatient, “I’ll still work here.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he mumbles absentmindedly.</p><p>“Okay, well, I really have to get some work done, so I’ll see you in class,” George says quickly, starting to close his door. </p><p>“No, wait!” Sapnap rushes. “I know you’re busy, I know you’re a very important Ph.D. student, I <em> know </em> you have better things to do, but there’s a party going on literally four doors down from here, and from the looks of it, you’re not going to be getting work done tonight.”</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“I’ve seen things, Georgie,” Sapnap whispers conspiratorially. “They’ve got a shit ton of records, and tons of beer, and <em> weed</em>. These walls are thin, you’re just gonna be listening to party noises all night. Why not <em> join </em> in on the party noises instead?”</p><p>
  <em> He has a point. </em>
</p><p>“No,” George says semi-assuredly. “Sapnap, I’m twenty-four, I have my defense in a <em> week</em>. I don’t want to get high with a bunch of freshman hippies.”</p><p>“George. <em> Please</em>. I barely know anyone there. All my friends are locked up studying. I’m <em>bored.</em>”</p><p>“So you ask your T.A. to come party with you?”</p><p>“Please,” Sapnap groans. “This is your last month as a grad student. Let’s get fucked up.”</p><p>
  <em> That is true. </em>
</p><p>“Okay, fine,” George mutters, grabbing his coat and keys. “I assume you’ll be needing me to purchase alcohol as well?”</p><p>Sapnap beams, slinging his arm around George’s shoulders. “You know me so well, Georgie.”</p><p>A rain-soaked trip to the minimart, fifteen cans of Budweiser, and two packs of Marlboros later, George is huddled on a hideous brown plaid sofa in a dimly-lit campus apartment, rubbing his socks against the carpeted floor, watching as Sapnap throws back copious amounts of liquor. Parties made George claustrophobic—he much preferred hiding in his apartment or in the library, poring over nearly illegible notes and computer architecture manuals, much preferred meticulous order to passionate chaos. He begins a slow observation of the hazy living room, watching as girls with flowing hair mindlessly twirl to the crackly strums of an electric guitar blasting from the record player, clouds of smoke drifting idly from their painted lips. George tugs his coat around him tighter, looking for any signs of Sapnap, but the younger boy seamlessly disappears into the buzzing kitchen crowd, taking part in some sort of twisted, alcohol-fueled cross between poker and monopoly. Suddenly, he’s jostled by a drunken girl in nothing but bell-bottoms and a lace bra falling onto the sofa. Moments later, an equally drunken boy crashes on top of her, attacking her lips with a fervor that startles George upright, causing the can of Budweiser he’d been nursing to soak his jeans. He backs away from the sofa, nearly tumbling over a glass bong lying sideways on the floor, small clusters of what he can only assume is weed spilling from the stem. </p><p>“Jesus, man, you okay?” a voice calls, and George squints to see a silhouette of an impossibly tall stranger amid the smoky haze. </p><p>“Yeah,” he breathes as the boy moves closer, “just got- uh- displaced.”</p><p>“British?” the boy inquires. George swears it sounds like warm honey’s spilling from his lips. “What year you in?”</p><p>George finally looks up, feeling his habitually whizzing mind stutter to a stop as translucent green eyes stare earnestly back. The boy runs his hand through a long, blonde mop of hair, and George watches his muscles ripple under his shirt, almost entirely unbuttoned and tucked into dark jeans that look like they’re painted on. George nearly collapses when the boy grabs his arm, pulling them searingly close. </p><p>“I asked you a question,” he grins, swaying slightly to the music. </p><p>“I’m- I’m old,” George stammers out, cringing at his trembling voice.</p><p>“Don’t look old to me.”</p><p>“I’m a grad- er- Ph.D. student, I’m twenty-four,” George mumbles, his eyes drifting from the boy’s distractingly visible chest to the floor. </p><p>“Damn, only twenty-four?”</p><p>“I graduated high school early.”</p><p>“‘Course you did,” the boy chuckles. “I’m Dream.”</p><p>“George.”</p><p>“Who’d you come here with, George?” Dream murmurs, taking a long sip of his beer. </p><p>“Uh, Sapnap? I T.A.’ed his computer science seminar this semester,” George chuckles, suddenly realizing how pathetic it sounds. “He’s a sophomore.”</p><p>“Hmm, I think I know him. I’m in C.S., too. Junior, though,” Dream says lightly, inching closer to George as the music swells. </p><p>“Really? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you.”</p><p>“Don’t think I’ve seen <em>you</em>. I’d remember a face like yours.”</p><p>George thanks the heavens for the dim lighting and smoky haze, because he goes the color of a beet as Dream chuckles softly, dipping his head to whisper in the older’s ear. </p><p>“Do you dance, George?”</p><p>George shakes his head fiercely, eyes still trained to the floor.</p><p>“Will you dance with me?” </p><p>And just like that, George finds himself being pulled into a crowd of swaying, intoxicated bodies, pressed up against the strong chest he’d spent so long studying. Finally plucking up the courage to look up, he watches Dream sway blissfully with his eyes closed and head thrown back, joint tucked securely behind his ear. </p><p>To George’s horror, Dream looks down, catching him staring as the song changes. He laughs, throwing his head back with a soft wheezing sound that makes George’s chest tighten. </p><p>“Oh, George,” Dream giggles, taking another sip of beer as a shout erupts from the kitchen, “I fucking <em> love </em> this song.”</p><p>“Hmm? What is it?”</p><p>“You’ve never heard this song?” Dream gasps, feigning shock. “What’s wrong with you?”</p><p>“I- uh-”</p><p>“It’s Morning Dew,” he says, studying George’s face. “What? Morning Dew? By Grateful Dead? Do you live under a rock, Georgie?”</p><p>“No, I live in the library,” George retorts, softening as Dream’s sharp features twist into a cheeky grin.</p><p>“Y’know,” Dream says, “I heard this live, in San Francisco, the year I graduated high school. My dad bought me my car, Dolores, and concert tickets. The lead singer was high off his mind, and he almost <em>cried </em>while singing. I think I almost cried listening to it. God, it was fucking <em> divine.</em>”</p><p>George watches Dream softly mumble the lyrics and swears he’s found something even more divine.</p><p>
  <em> Walk me out in the morning dew my honey, walk me out in the morning dew today. </em>
</p><p>They stay there for a long while, swaying to the music, until the spilled beer starts drying stickily on George’s jeans, making him squirm uncomfortably as Dream continues to move like a fallen angel.</p><p>“Uh, Dream?”</p><p>“Yeah?” he replies, snapping out of his reverie as the song comes to an end.</p><p>“Sorry, um, I spilled beer on myself earlier. Any chance there’s a bathroom or something I can use?”</p><p>“Oh shit, yeah, follow me.”</p><p>Dream grabs George’s hand firmly, sending a shiver down his spine. He shoves, pushes, and maneuvers people out of the way, leading George to a small bedroom down the hall, where two boys casually lie on the unmade bed with a ceramic bong nestled between them. </p><p>“No way in hell Ford wins,” one of them laughs, “the day that dick pardoned Nixon was the day he lost the re-election.”</p><p>The other boy nods, “fuckin’ idiots,” he chuckles, moving to flick a lighter against the stem, taking a massive hit before continuing. “All of ‘em. Y’ever read Marx? Now <em> that’s </em>a guy who knows what he’s talkin’ about.”</p><p>“Spare me your commie bullshit, Alex.”</p><p>Dream clears his throat, and both boys lazily turn to look at him. “Ay, Dreamie!” the boy in the beanie calls, holding out the bong. “Want some?”</p><p>“Nah, I’m good,” Dream says casually, running a hand through his hair. “Alex, Karl, this is George. George, Karl and Alex.”</p><p>“Hi,” George mumbles.</p><p>“Boys, I’d appreciate it if you kindly took your party <em>out </em>of my bedroom,” Dream laughs, herding them towards the exit. </p><p>“Okay, dickhead. But you’d better smoke with us later,” Karl giggles, slowly making his way out the door with Alex in tow. </p><p>“You guys need lube?” Alex whispers loudly, causing Karl to erupt into raucous laughter. </p><p>George turns bright red, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as Dream shakes his head. “Please, let's avoid the lube talk, you fuckin’ freaks,” he implores, pushing them out and shutting the door with a sharp bang. </p><p>“They’re high,” Dream says apologetically.</p><p>George shakes his head, smiling. “It’s fine, it’s fine. They’re funny.”</p><p>“Real fuckin’ comedians,” Dream replies sarcastically, beginning to rummage through his dresser. “You ever been high, George?”</p><p>“Uh, no,” he says sheepishly, twisting his fingers.</p><p>“I figured. Why?” </p><p>“Never had the chance to, I guess.”</p><p>“Damn,” Dream says, producing a pair of ratty sweatpants from a drawer. George curses himself for his lameness, for not taking advantage of his university days, for locking himself away when he’d much rather be, well, like Dream—hopelessly free, irresistibly passionate.</p><p>“You can roll ‘em up if they’re long,” Dream calls, unceremoniously tossing the sweatpants at George. </p><p>“Right,” he mutters, suddenly hyper-aware of Dream’s expectant gaze. “Uh- could you, um-”</p><p>“Oh! Right,” Dream exclaims sharply, turning around as George stumbles out of the sticky jeans. “Sorry.”</p><p>“All good,” George huffs, tugging the sweatpants on. They’re loose, resting low on his hips, leaving a thin sliver of skin exposed between his crewneck and the pants, and Dream can’t bring himself to stop staring when George turns around, licking his lips dazedly. “Dream,” George coughs, secretly feeling a little self-satisfied when the other boy flusters, blushing deep pink and averting his eyes. </p><p>“Yeah, I- uh- the um- party’s kinda loud, do you maybe wanna stay here?” he asks shyly, a far cry from the blazing confidence that had swept George away like a morning tide. </p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Dream lays down on the bed, gracefully motioning for George to join him. They lie perfectly close, shoulders almost touching but not quite, staring at the ceiling soundlessly. Music drifts through the thin walls, wrapping a warm blanket around George’s mind. </p><p>
  <em> Riders on the storm, riders on the storm, into this house we're born, into this world we're thrown. </em>
</p><p><em> You’re safe</em>, the guitar assures. <em> You’re home, </em>the drums echo. He believes it. </p><p>
  <em> Like a dog without a bone, an actor out on loan, riders on the storm. </em>
</p><p>“I’m gonna smoke this,” Dream murmurs, fishing a silver lighter out of his pocket and pulling the joint from behind his ear. </p><p>“Okay,” George whispers again, unable to move as he watches Dream’s pink lips languidly wrap around the joint. He lights it, taking a long drag before blowing smoke upwards, letting it saturate the room. </p><p>George feels lightheaded. He convinces himself it’s from the smoke—not Dream’s body radiating warmth, not Dream smelling like a mix of expensive cologne and cheap beer, not Dream’s hair spilling onto the pillowcase, tickling his neck. </p><p>“What do you do, George?” Dream inquires after a long moment.</p><p>“I-,” George sputters, “well, my thesis is about allocating systems and forming a sort of data tree so that many computers can form a network of-” </p><p>“Not your thesis, idiot,” he interrupts, laughing softly, “what do you <em> do</em>?”</p><p>“What d’you mean?”</p><p>“Like, what makes you happy?”</p><p>“Honestly?” George says, trembling slightly, “Computers. Sorry, I know it’s boring.”</p><p>“That’s respectable,” Dream nods, shifting so he’s looking at George through heavy-lidded eyes. “Not boring.”</p><p>“Hmm,” George hums. “Thanks. How about you?”</p><p>“Not sure yet. Music is good, computers have been plenty fun so far. But somehow, I feel like I wanna do something more.”</p><p>“Like what?” George inquires, turning to face Dream.</p><p>“Not sure. Just- <em> more</em>, y’know?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“I lived on the beach, in Florida, before college. It was fuckin’- like- so fuckin’ <em> slow</em>, I felt like my brain wasn’t moving fast enough. It’s why I chose to come here. My brain moves quicker here. I see more shit… Like- life progresses in a way I’m content with,” Dream rushes, gesturing madly. </p><p>“I understand, I think,” George replies, stomach twisting, “I- I lived in London before and I went to university there. But I got a chance to come to America, and just- just <em>took </em>it. Didn’t tell anyone. I was always younger than everyone in school, so people knew me as that kid that <em>knew shit</em>, you know? This was a fresh start. Nobody knows me in Providence. It’s weirdly nice.”</p><p>“I think you should let people know you,” Dream says roughly, studying George’s face intently.</p><p>“Maybe,” George shivers, meeting his gaze.</p><p>“Do you- maybe- do you wanna try some?” Dream offers, breaking his stare and holding out the blunt.</p><p>“Sure? I don’t really-”</p><p>“Shh, sit up,” he coos, leaning against the headboard. George follows suit, cheeks reddening as Dream motions for him to come closer. “C’mere, I don’t bite.”</p><p>He takes a long drag, closing his eyes as George watches intently with cautious curiosity. Dream draws closer, hesitating for a moment, then closes the space between them, cupping George’s face and parting his lips gently. He blows smoke into George’s open mouth, letting out a breathless <em> “suck, George.” </em></p><p>George hesitates for a moment, then sucks in determinedly, letting the smoke burn his throat and enter his lungs. “Fuck,” he coughs, eyes watering. Dream laughs softly, snuffing out the blunt in the glass ashtray resting on his bedside table. “Water?” George chokes out, embarrassment settling in his gut as Dream shoves a cup into his hand with an amused look.</p><p>“Do you know what Providence means?” Dream asks after George recovers, eyes flicking to his lips. </p><p>“Mm, no,” George breathes, feeling like the wind’s been knocked out of him. </p><p>“It means <em>divine intervention</em>. You believe in that?”</p><p>“In what?” </p><p>“Divine intervention.”</p><p>“Sometimes.” </p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>“Do you?” George asks.</p><p>“Yeah,” Dream grins, cupping George’s face again and bringing their lips together. God, it’s everything—it’s soft, exploratory, sweet, gentle—it’s loving and curious all at once, it’s a kiss that asks for more, but is perfectly content with less. </p><p>A loud clap of thunder resounds outside, and the icy rain begins to worsen, pounding torrentially against the window. They jump apart at the sudden noise, and Dream trembles, taking a deep breath before speaking. </p><p>“More?” he asks timidly.</p><p>“Please,” George whispers.</p><p>The warm lamplight creates a halo around Dream, illuminating his body with thin ribbons of fine gold. George thinks he’s transcending, moving through clouds and stars and satellites and galaxies as Dream dips in for another kiss, capturing his lips sweetly as ever. They lie there for a while, kissing slowly as muffled music mixes with rain to create a perfect symphony, punctuated by George’s quiet gasps and Dream’s winded whimpers. </p><p>George feels like he’s getting swept away, feels his stomach turn sickeningly, and pulls back, noticing Dream’s face flash with concern. </p><p>“What happened?” he questions breathlessly, reaching up to drag his thumb across George’s cheekbone. </p><p>“Nothing,” George gasps, “just- uh- you’re so-”</p><p>“You okay?”</p><p>“Yes, God, <em> yes</em>. I just- I’ve never- I’ve never done things. With a guy,” he stutters, feeling strangely shameful as Dream watches him, lips parted.</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“I understand if you want to stop,” George says meekly, “but I- I want this. I want you to teach me.”</p><p>“Teach you?” Dream asks slyly.</p><p>“Teach me,” George affirms, staring at Dream with lightning in his eyes. “Teach me.”</p><p>Dream surges forward, grasping at George’s face harder this time. He takes his sweet time, flipping them so George is lying against the soft blankets with Dream over him, feeling like he’s drowning in a rainstorm of kisses, sucks, and bites. His eyes flutter shut as Dream ensures no inch of George’s skin goes unexplored, worshipping like his life depends on it.</p><p>“Okay?” Dream gasps, coming up for air. “Is this okay?”</p><p>“Don’t you ever fucking stop,” George whispers, threading his hands through Dream’s hair. </p><p>Dream smiles demurely, diving back down to explore, pulling George’s crewneck up and over his head and letting out a hungry gasp at the sight of his creamy skin against dark bed sheets. </p><p>“What?” George asks, beginning to grow alarmed as Dream just <em>watches </em>with his chest heaving steadily.</p><p>“You’re going to kill me,” he murmurs, running a finger down George’s sternum, tracing his ribs lightly with a look of childish wonderment. “You’re so <em> soft</em>, how are you so fucking soft?” Dream babbles, fingers dancing across George’s skin, painstakingly slow, like he’s playing a delicate instrument. </p><p>“Tell me when to stop,” he says finally, unbuckling his belt. </p><p>George nods, staring up at the blonde silk curling around Dream’s face as he attempts to unbutton his shirt with quivering hands. </p><p>“Can I?” George asks quietly, almost like an afterthought. </p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>George reaches forward with equally shaky hands, undoing the three buttons Dream had bothered to fasten and pushing the shirt off his broad shoulders. He reaches forward tentatively to spread his hands across Dream’s chest, conducting his own examination, feeling the muscles tense and ripple under his skin. George feels thunderstorms in Dream, shadowy wisps of secrets he wants to explore, to plunge into headfirst, to claim for himself and have claim him. </p><p>“Are you scared?” Dream wonders aloud, catching George’s hands in his own. </p><p>George shakes his head. “Teach me,” he whispers again.</p><p>Dream pulls down his jeans, leaving him in boxers and George in those massive sweatpants. He sighs, leaning back on his heels, then captures George all over again, connecting their lips and rocking his hips painfully slow so they meet in the middle, perfectly joined by blissful friction. </p><p>George feels the hardness in his pants grow and bucks his hips up in a wretched attempt to feel <em>more</em>. Dream smiles through the kiss, licking George’s bottom lip like he’s trying to memorize every crease. It’s desperately hot, despite the frost creeping up on the windows, and their bodies slide together, colliding like two thunderclouds. </p><p>“More?” he asks, pulling away again.</p><p>“Dream,” George moans softly, “give me- give me everything.”</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>“Positive.”</p><p>Dream gives him everything.</p><p>He tugs George’s sweatpants down slowly, diving in to suckle at the soft skin of his inner thighs. George squeezes his legs together at the sensation, causing Dream to only moan louder, reveling in the way George’s pale flesh envelops him. Dream whispers to him brokenly, letting his spit cover George as he marks him with bruises and bites. <em> Trust me. Let me take good care of you. Let me teach you. I promise I’ll take care of you. </em>George moans—gentle gasps at first, then louder, more assuredly, dying to be encompassed by Dream, swept away in his storm. </p><p><em> More</em>. George begs mentally. Somehow, Dream hears him.</p><p>He palms at George’s growing bulge, eyes flicking up again, asking for permission. George nods, letting Dream pull his boxers down until his cock springs free, warm and heavy against his slender stomach. He begins grasping at Dream’s underwear, silently begging him with hitched breaths and soft whimpers. Dream obliges, earning a gasp when his cock slowly slides against George’s. They move as one, rolling their hips in a silent symphony, sliding their spit-slick lips together lazily, so warm and wet and gentle it’s barely a kiss—it’s heaven. George fists his hands in the sheets, tugging at them as Dream moves methodically, gliding and writhing in pleasure and gripping George’s waist to steady himself. </p><p>“You can- you can go harder, you know that, right?” George moans as their precum mixes, smearing onto his stomach. </p><p>“You want me to go harder?” Dream questions, wondering which God sent him this angel through the rains. </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Dream reaches a hand up to grasp the pale column of George’s throat, sending his other hand down to grip his cock, thumbing away the small bead of precum on the slit and stroking slowly. </p><p>“Look at me?” he asks.</p><p>George lets out a soft noise and nods, pupils blown wide as his head spins. They stare at each other with fucked-out <em> want</em>, silent prayers buzzing through the places where their skin connects. Dream maintains pressure on George’s throat while continuing to stroke lazily, dipping his head to kiss George’s cheeks, the space next to his nose, his reddened lips, his dark eyelashes. <em> I’ll pray to you, </em> he thinks, <em> I’ll worship at your altar every night.  </em></p><p>“I’m gonna-” George rasps, and Dream’s hands fly away, coming up to tangle in George’s hair, kissing him deeply. “Thank you,” he mumbles, spit dripping down his chin. <em> Beautiful</em>, Dream thinks, <em> beautiful and mine.  </em></p><p>“I have to open you up now,” Dream soothes, “I’ll go slow, stop me if it hurts.”</p><p>George nods, letting Dream pry his legs open and press kisses to his inner thighs. Dream fumbles around his nightstand before he finds lube, tipping it onto his fingers as George watches, lazily stroking his cock. </p><p>“No,” Dream growls, batting his hands away. “Mine.”</p><p>George smiles knowingly. “Yours,” he agrees, feeling the music in his heart, in his bones, in his soul.</p><p>
  <em> You gotta love your man, you gotta love your man. Take him by the hand, make him understand. </em>
</p><p>Dream slots their lips together before pushing a finger in, letting George bite and suck on his lip as the warmth envelops him, straining and writhing and perfect. He adds another and George draws blood this time, sinking his teeth into Dream’s neck with a long, needy moan. </p><p>“How’s it feel?” he asks, bringing his other hand up to George’s face. </p><p>“God, ah, good, so good Dream,” George sighs, eyes fluttering shut. </p><p>“You’re doing so well,” Dream coos, pushing his thumb past George’s parted lips. “Suck on that for me, baby, okay?”</p><p>Dream continues to open George up, sinfully slow, letting himself savor every minute wrapped in the slick, inviting warmth. George keens, bucking his hips upwards while lapping dutifully at Dream’s fingers, feeling entirely overwhelmed, unable to see, hear, or feel anything except Dream. </p><p>“I’m gonna move now,” Dream grunts, fucking his fingers in and out of George, watching as his brows furrow and his stomach clenches. “So pretty for me, so warm and perfect. Gonna let me fuck you?”</p><p>George nods enthusiastically, tears falling from his eyes. “I- I don’t have all night, Dream,” he laughs breathlessly, “teach me how to be good for you.”</p><p>“You don’t have all night, hmm?” Dream says wickedly, “too bad, I was planning on taking my time.”</p><p>“Please,” George whimpers. “All I want is you,” he babbles, “all I ever fucking need is you.”</p><p>With that, Dream feels like he’s died and gone to heaven, because suddenly his cock is at George’s entrance and they’re locking eyes, faces flushed and so fucking needy. </p><p>“Fuck me,” George whispers, eyes sparkling with lust and everything dark, everything unseen. </p><p>“Okay,” Dream replies, pushing in until their bodies lay flush together, accepting each other’s heat, each other’s safety. The rain washes away the outside world, but they’re together as one, intertwining amidst smoky clouds and muffled chords.</p><p>
  <em> The world on you depends, our life will never end, gotta love your man. </em>
</p><p>Dream fucks into him like a promise, slow movements timing with slow beats, slow rainfall, slow thunder. It’s gentle, loving, but George wants more. He claws at Dream’s back, making the most sinful noises, asking, begging to be taken, to be destroyed, to be dragged through the depths of hell and born again. </p><p>“What do you need?” Dream asks, nearly collapsing from the feeling of George stretching around him, bending and breaking himself just for Dream. Only for Dream. </p><p>“Need you,” George cries, tears rushing down his cheeks. Dream leans down and licks them. It’s like nectar. Dream slides their lips together once more, sucking at George’s swollen skin and easing the pain, watching as dark bruises begin to appear on his neck. </p><p>“These are mine,” he murmurs, scratching at them gently as he continues fucking into George. </p><p>“They’re yours,” George replies shakily, fisting his hands in Dream’s hair. “I’m yours, too.”</p><p>Dream loses himself in the motions, loses himself in George’s lips, in breathing into his skin and mumbling promises he knows he’ll die before he breaks. George accepts him with loving grace, lean muscles straining and tensing, letting himself drown in storms of white-hot pleasure. His lips part slightly, slick and dripping with spit, and Dream looks down, looks into the eyes of the boy he’s ruining, and begs, “open your mouth.”</p><p>George parts his lips with an uncertain expression, eyes fluttering closed every time Dream slams back into him. Dream spits gently, letting it fall into George’s mouth, and George swallows with a hum. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and Dream nearly cries.</p><p>“So beautiful and broken and perfect,” Dream whispers against his skin, trailing his fingers to press gingerly at George’s stomach. “George, give me your hand.” George obliges, feeling Dream move with him, within him, feeling Dream dismantle and rebuild him, piece by piece.</p><p>“It’s you,” George moans softly.</p><p>“Me,” Dream gasps into his neck, feeling his orgasm build. “I’m close, George.”</p><p>“Harder. Actually break me,” George pleads, tears staining the bedsheets, wide-eyed and dangerous.</p><p>Dream goes harder, fucking George until they both reach their breaking point, until their vision hazes with a million stormclouds, until George is gasping and sobbing, begging Dream to let him come. </p><p>“Please, Dream, please. Please, I need to, I need to, I’m gonna die if I don’t. Please Dream, please let me come,” he cries, grasping at Dream like he needs him to breathe. </p><p>“Just a second, baby, just a second,” Dream moans, “you’ve been so fucking good for me, letting me break you like you need to be broken, just a few more seconds baby,” he pleads, gripping George’s cock. </p><p>“I, I, ah- please, I,” George stutters, bouncing back against Dream’s cock, wrapping his legs around him. </p><p>“Come, George. Come for me, baby,” Dream growls, pulling him up to change the angle as their bodies slot together perfectly, skin against skin. George cries out, coming all over himself, hot white spurts painting their stomachs, and Dream gasps loudly, emptying himself into George, who happily accepts him. </p><p>They collapse together, limbs twisted and trembling, hearts fluttering with exhaustion and love.</p><p>Dream looks up, grinning like the devil, and George swears he’s seen nirvana. </p><p>
  <em> Riders on the storm, riders on the storm, into this house we're born, into this world we're thrown. </em>
</p><p><em> You’re safe</em>, Dream’s embrace assures. <em> You’re home, </em>his breaths echo. George believes it. </p><p>
  <em> Like a dog without a bone, an actor out on loan, riders on the storm. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi.</p><p>the grateful dead concert dream went to actually happened! san francisco, december 31, 1972. just pretend it was a very early graduation gift from dream's dad. they also actually played morning dew at that concert.</p><p>ford and carter were running against each other in 1976, that's what alex and karl were talking about if you were a bit confused. </p><p>again, thank you all for reading. the songs i mentioned were:<br/>morning dew by grateful dead<br/>riders on the storm by the doors</p><p>love from the loglady &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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